Echoing Reflection
by Calecus
Summary: Running through the Department of Mysteries, Harry Potter ends up in a magical accident and finds his mind switched with the God of Mischief. Meanwhile, Loki wakes up shorter and scrawnier than he would have liked. No Pairings. AU from fifth year.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Avengers, and I make no profit from this.

o-O-o

Run. Breathe. Dodge. Those were the only tasks his body managed to accomplish without breaking down. Somewhere after countless rooms and bending hallways, Harry had ended up alone and separated from his friends. He skidded to a stop as a beam of sickly purple zoomed pass him, barely missing his head and, instead, slammed into a poor jar of squirming tentacles. Correction, he was not completely alone; good ol' Lucius Malfoy was pursuing his very steps.

As another curse shot his way, Harry swiftly dove to the ground. Red hot sparks then burst forth from where he was standing a moment ago. Based on the severity of the spells, the Malfoy patriarch must really be peeved with his constant evasion. In the next second, he was already back on his feet and dashing through rows of towering shelves.

Perspiration rolled off his forehead while his breathing came out in agonizing gasps. Despite his aching lungs, Harry continued on running, trying to escape the lethal spells and the mounting guilt ravaging his thoughts. It was undeniably true that his actions had led his friends into this dangerous situation; a trap that could possibly cost them their lives.

Shoving that fearful predicament to the recesses of his mind, he barged into the next room. Harry threw a strong locking spell at the door and quickly set out in search of another entrance. Only he didn't. He stopped and gazed far into the wide expanse of the room. It contained a sea of overflowing mirrors, in all shapes and sizes. They were lined so close together that it formed a mystifying labyrinth, so reminiscent of the maze in his fourth year.

Strangely, his feet then moved without conscious thought. Gliding through the pathway of mirrors, fascination bubbled inside his chest with each new reflection he caught. In the varying glass surfaces, his reflections were diverse and unique. There were ones where he appeared older or younger and ones where he wore another house's colour other than his Gryffindor red. Disturbingly enough, some even portrayed him with battle scars, while others depicted him with different shades of hair or eyes.

Yet there was one mirror in particular that beckoned him closer. It had a large crack trailing down its centre and, what was stranger, it held no reflection. As if mesmerised, his fingers traced over the broken outline, feeling along its sharp edges. He then inhaled in shock and pulled his hand back, only to find it bleeding from a shallow cut. Unbeknownst to him, the little drop of blood left on the crack vanished, hungrily absorbed below the surface of the glass.

"Surrender yourself, Potter."

Harry twisted around in a hurried panic to the sight of Malfoy, with wand aimed and glowing eagerly. His body stood stock still while he cursed his carelessness. Gambling on his next move, he slowly grasped the prophecy orb, still within the folds of his pocket, and took it out.

"I'll smash this if you come any closer, Malfoy," he said. Admittedly, this probably wasn't his brightest idea, but he couldn't think of anything else on the spot.

"Don't be a fool, boy. Think of your friends," said Malfoy. "If you give me the prophecy, then I can guarantee that none of them will come to harm."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

The older wizard smiled in what was meant to be reassurance but came out as patronizing. "You have my word as a Malfoy."

"… yeah, that really doesn't comfort me."

"You know you can't win," Malfoy went on. "Against the might of the Dark Lord, we are all but pawns in his hands."

"You may be his willing servant but I refuse to bow to him," Harry declared.

"Would you rather have the death of your loved ones on your conscious, Potter?" the wizard asked viciously, his impatience at its limit. "You can truly save them, and all you need to do is hand over the prophecy."

Harry knew, without a grain of doubt, that whether the prophecy was taken or not, he and his friends would still be killed. If that was the case, then there really was only one choice he could make: destroy the prophecy before it could ever reach the Dark Lord. With that in mind, he readied himself to break the glass orb, firming his resolve as one would fortify a wall.

Malfoy must have seen his decision painted across his face, for the wizard acted before he could.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry ducked as the green light came barreling towards him. He'd expected the curse to smash into the mirror behind him, but instead of the predicted shatter of glass, the spell _bounced _off the shiny surface as though it'd been swatted away. The killing curse then flew straight out, managing to hit another mirror and the same effect happened again. On and on it traveled to all the mirrors in an array of crisscrossing light, creating almost a web of fading green ropes.

Then at a defying angle, the curse inexplicably headed back in Malfoy's direction. Unfortunately, the older wizard jumped out of its path within a hair's width. As the spell impacted on the new mirror, it shockingly got sucked inside, finally putting an end to its dizzying journey.

Believing that to be the finale of the abnormal light show, Harry was about to run off. His course of action was, however, stalled when the mirrors began shaking erratically and violently, much like a boggart trapped in a trunk; so wild were the tremors that it could be felt all the way to his fingertips. And in a synchronized moment, all the mirrors exploded into hundreds of glittering shards, each piece raining down on them in powerful torrents.

Harry was flung off his feet by the blast, and as if a shroud had covered his vision, the world suddenly turned black.

o-O-o

"Agent Romanoff."

Natasha halted her steps and glanced sideways to see the approaching form of Nick Fury. The Director of SHIELD swept down the corridor like a smoothly thrown blade and lodged himself directly in front of her.

"You're heading towards the prisoner's cell," he stated simply. The silent order to offer an explanation was left unsaid.

"Just for a little discussion, sir," said Natasha.

Fury did not respond, opting for an undecipherable gaze. She peered evenly back, unmoving and resolute. Most enemies assumed his limited vision was disadvantageous in a fight but they're wrong. That single eye did little to diminish its burning intensity, so comparable to a wild fire refusing to die out. And she'd even confess that it did quite well to unnerve more than a few people – not her though.

"Continue on then," he eventually allowed, "but you will report back afterwards."

Her head inclined in agreement as she maneuvered passed him. A few corridors later, Natasha stood before a heavily sealed door. After punching in the code it opened noiselessly and she slipped in unnoticed.

In a dark corner Natasha used the shadows as a cloak, effectively concealing herself. Now free to observe Loki, she carefully took in the exhaustion etched across his visage, along with the stiff shoulders that seemed to carry an unknown weight. Still, it was his eyes that captured her attention; those blue orbs were harsh and mercilessly cold like a frozen landscape.

She continued watching while he paced restlessly in the cell, as though he was a feline predator awaiting his moment to pounce. A thought struck her and Natasha suddenly found it odd that a glass cage could hold this supposed god. Feeling something amiss, she walked into the open, announcing her presence.

"There are not many people that can sneak up on me," said Loki and he directed a wide smile at her. In turn, Natasha looked back impassively.

An expression as simple as a smile could reveal many facets to a man. In her travels, she'd seen men who smiled confidently, assured in their status and ability. Then there are those who smiled conceitedly, filled with an inflated sense of self-worth. And there were many more who dipped careless seduction or cruelty into the gesture, twisting it into an ugly distortion of human affection.

Loki's smile was meant to be mocking yet disarming, that much was evident. Though Natasha tried to look passed that, as if she could unearth his true intentions. She stared and stared, trying to dig underneath the veiled hostility and shallow arrogance. And there it was, a gleam of bitter sadness managed to shine through, fleeting and raw.

Taking that into account, she responded, "You knew I would come."

"Yes, after whatever nameless torture Fury puts me under," he said lightly. "Only then would you appear."

"There's no need to make it hard on yourself," Natasha told him. "If you cooperate, we'll happily go easy on you."

"But you would not release me."

"No," she said, "you killed too many people for that."

"Then what is one more death on my hands?" asked Loki with feigned seriousness. "Perhaps a certain Agent Barton will do?"

Natasha did not react to the bait. "Agent Barton is a trained assassin; he's prepared for any outcome."

"Ah, but are you prepared, Agent Romanoff?" Loki questioned. "Are you ready to stain your hands with his blood?"

It was then that the God of Mischief wavered slightly in his stance. If it was not for her focused attention she would not have caught it; so miniscule a movement that it was like trying to catch a passing breeze.

Taking a chance, Natasha drew closer to the glass containment until they were separated by only a few feet. "I admit… I already have enough red in my ledger to last a lifetime," she began. "I rather not have his added to it."

"Is this affection I sense from you?" By now, Loki appeared to be struggling against something, his breathing coming out strained.

She gave no outward indication of this change and continued on. "Such emotions are for the naive; I just owe him a debt."

"Tell me."

Though irked by his commanding tone, she nevertheless agreed. "Before I worked for SHIELD, I had made a name for myself. I possessed a particular skill set that –"

Immediately, her words were cut off by the unexpected scene before her. In a single blink of the eye, Loki's knees met the ground in a harsh thump and his long-fingered hands clutched around his head. In a macabre fashion, his mouth opened in a soundless scream, yet that lasted only a mere second. In the next moment, his body went entirely limp, with his head lowered and arms loose to the side. At his present state, she could not help but think of a person in postmortem.

Shaking off her surprise, Natasha took a wary step forward. "Loki?" No reaction. She spoke his name again but to no avail; his figure remained lifeless. About to call for aid, she placed her palm against the sturdy glass. As if that was the unseen switch, Loki's head snapped straight up like an unleashed whip. Despite the sudden motion, Natasha stood her ground and stilled herself.

Green eyes, so bright and unerringly clear, stared into hers.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A reviewer asked if this story takes place in the same dimension, and the answer is 'No'. The Avengers and the Harry Potter gang are not on the same Earth, so the Marvel world and HP world are separate. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews guys!

o-O-o

Harry's eyes opened to blinding white, a sharp sting that urged him to immediately draw them close again. The sensation was similar to seeing the raw light of day after wandering so long in the dark that it took some time to adjust. With caution, he allowed his gaze to steadily open once more, and a room with glass walls greeted him. So foreign was his surroundings that confusion settled heavily on his brows. His mind was a whirlwind of images as he tried to recall what happened.

Green light… mirrors crumbling… the discovery of a prophecy… and… and… Sirius!

A gasp fell from his lips as his memory solidified in clear strokes. Harry quickly went to stand up, but what he ended up accomplishing instead was a stumbling fall, landing on his bottom. And it was in that instant that he finally took a good look at himself.

Incredibly long legs met his sight. Legs clad in black leather, appearing completely misplaced on his body. Swallowing nervously, Harry was about to touch the unfamiliar limbs until his hands came into view. Hands, so pale and slender, cruelly mocked him where they shouldn't belong. Realisation crashed down upon him that this was _not_ his body.

Harry noted belatedly that in his panic, he had forgotten to breathe. Air rushed back into his lung as soon as he took deep, full gulps. Given the chase through the Department of Mysteries, the intense standoff with Malfoy and now _this_, calm was certainly a difficult state to achieve. Nevertheless, he tried to think through the sheer anxiety and crawling dread.

Then one thought flashed into his mind to quell the buzz of panic: the Polyjuice Potion. This must be the result of the Polyjuice Potion. The potion was the only explanation for his strange, new body. Once he came to that understanding, relief flooded his systems. It should eventually wear off so there was no need to worry, though the reason for the potion in the first place was still unknown to him.

Having now calmed himself, Harry gingerly stood up and finally took another look at what he presumed was his prison. He stilled instantly when he saw the form of a woman behind the glass.

Despite his typical inattentiveness in school lessons, Harry blamed his disorientation entirely this time for not noticing her sooner. Yet he couldn't see how that should be possible when she was standing only a few feet from him. The woman was observing him with a quiet intensity that almost bordered on disturbing and seemed to be waiting for something. He realised a second later that she was waiting for him to react.

Harry took a few wary steps back, yet that did little to ease his nerves. He had no doubt the death eaters have managed to capture him after he was knocked out. And she was probably a death eater like Bellatrix Lestrange. She wore some kind of black outfit that hugged her figure tightly, which was an odd choice that appeared more muggle than wizarding. Though the woman was beautiful, she exuded an air of danger. Unbidden, the image of Professor Sprout's flesh-eating plants came to mind; the ones that were lovely and delicate but would readily devour you once your defenses were down.

Harry felt small under her stare.

"Where —" he paused briefly at the sound of his voice – so smooth and deep. "Where are my friends? What have you done to them?" His stomach twisted like an overwrought rope about to snap, knowing this whole mess was his fault and that everyone could be hurt because of him.

"Friends?" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "You were alone when you arrived… and I highly doubt you're referring to the men under your forced control."

Now it was his turn to gaze at her in befuddlement. "What 'forced control' are you talking about? And my friends came along with me willingly, so what did you do to them?"

With a frown, the woman said, "We don't have your… friends."

Harry hoped she was speaking the truth, and a part of him was thankful that his friends had possibly escaped. "If that's true, then what are you going to do with me? And why am I polyjuiced as another person?"

In response, she gave him a look as if he had just declared himself a goblin. "Did you sustain any injury to the head?" she asked bluntly and murmured to herself, "Perhaps that was why you collapsed earlier."

Harry scowled at her. Falling on his arse when he just woke up did not count as 'collapsed'. "I don't know why you even bother with all this," he gestured down the length of his body. "Your master already has what he wanted, and I don't see any use keeping me here."

"Director Fury is our _leader_," she corrected, still staring at him oddly, "and you won't be going anywhere until we get the Tesseract back, Loki."

Everything about that last comment halted him in his tracks, but it was what she called him that caught his attention. "That's not my name."

"What?"

"Loki. That's not my name."

The woman regarded him with disbelief. "But it is your name."

"Um… no, it isn't," he replied, backing further away from her and quite concerned that she was perhaps as mad as Bellatrix. "Who are you anyway? And what is this place?"

This time, the woman pierced him with her sharp eyes, seeming to dissect his words. After a long stretch of silence, she said, "I think you may be experiencing some memory loss."

"What? There's nothing wrong with my memory." Harry could perfectly recall everything up to that point quite well.

"That would explain a lot actually," she continued, ignoring him, "about your abnormal behaviour and why you don't remember me."

"I don't remember you because I've never met you before!" Harry nearly shouted and shook his head angrily, tired of going in circles. "I don't know what game you're playing at, but you won't get away with this. Dumbledore will stop you."

"Dumbledore?"

The name rolled off her tongue as though it was a new flavour, unfamiliar and unusual. He didn't like the sound of it any better than their current conversation. "Dumbledore and the Order will fight back," he went on. "Whatever Voldemort is planning won't work."

The women did not respond. Instead, she turned away from him and touched her ear. "Tell Thor to come to the prisoner's holding cell immediately… yes, I want him here now." With one last glance in his direction, she strode towards the door.

"Wait!" Harry called. "You still didn't tell me anything yet!"

The woman didn't bother to turn around. At her blatant dismissal, the frustration and fear he held back after waking up now started to build anew like a fiery inferno. In addition to that, the concern for his friends and anger at his own stupidity also wreaked havoc on his conscious. Then gradually without his control, he felt his magic react, reaching out to the woman.

Surprised with his accidental magic, Harry could do nothing but stare. He saw it slowly changing her until the effect was finished. Despite the sudden magical display, she continued to walk away, none the wiser. It was also in that moment that Harry finally saw the weapon strapped to her thigh.

With all the insane incidents today, the only thought that came to him was, _'Why is a death eater carrying a muggle gun?'_

o-O-o

Outside the room, Natasha waited for the other super powered being to arrive. Her talk with Loki didn't go exactly as planned and now she was left with a possibly amnesiac god. Yet there was something about this that didn't fit. One minute he was cold and demanding, and in the next it seemed as if he was a different person altogether.

What she couldn't comprehend though were his eyes. They emitted honest confusion and strong defiance all in one breath; and that did not match the profile she compiled for his personality one bit.

Just then, the bulky form of Thor ambled down the corridor, the heavy footsteps heralding his presence. As soon as he saw her, the Thunder god stopped abruptly and gawked with wide eyes. His mouth opened and closed quite unattractively like a broken window shutter against the wind.

Chucking it up as an Asgardian thing, Natasha spoke up first. "Thor, there might be something wrong with your brother."

As if water had been doused on him, his expression turned grave at once. "Did Loki try to escape?"

"No," she said quickly. "But he's not behaving like himself."

"How is my brother not himself?"

With a soft exhale, she tried to describe the encounter and throughout this, Thor listened with a stern frown. When Natasha came to the end of her story, she asked, "So, do you think this could all be an act?"

"It's possible that he could be lying," said Thor. "This would not be the first my brother has weaved such tales to deceive people."

"Then how about the people he mentioned? Do any of those names sound familiar to you?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied apologetically. "The name of Dumbledore does not hail from any of the other realms. And I do not know of any Order or Voldemort."

Natasha tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. It was easy to discard Loki's change in demeanour as a ruse on his part, but her instincts were telling her otherwise. Then she recalled another peculiar detail.

"Thor, I need you to confirm one last thing. It's about Loki's eyes – were they always green?"

His head tilted to the side inquisitively. "Aye, my brother's eyes has always been that shade."

"But when he was brought here, they were blue," she revealed, "and only recently have they turned green."

"You must be mistaken."

"No, I'm not. Did you not notice his eyes when you spoke to him?"

Thor was about to speak but then paused, reconsidering the answer. "I confess there was much that consumed my mind at the time. Hence, when I first lay my gaze upon him such a detail may have escaped me."

She conceded to his reason with a nod, understanding their brotherly reunion was hardly a peaceful one.

"Even so, you must know that Loki is skilled in illusions; changing the colour of his eyes is child's play for him," Thor reminded her. "You must not be tricked by his methods, Agent Romanoff."

A scoff almost passed her lips at the very notion. "You don't need to worry about that."

"Perhaps not," he answered. "But for now, I shall have more words with my brother."

"If you believe that's a good idea, go talk to him then," she told the Thunder god. "And you can meet us back in the lab later." Natasha needed to report to the director right away about this. Hopefully, the man could give some insight into the situation.

She was already heading off when the sound of Thor's hesitant voice held her back.

"Um, Agent Romanoff."

Cautiously, she glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"My brother – did he…?" the Thunder god began tentatively, uncertain how to continue before pointing to her hair. "It is the colour of the sea."

"Excuse me?"

"Your hair, it is not the same."

With an ominous feeling, she swiftly ran to the nearest locker room with a mirror. Thor followed behind her as they entered one near the end of the corridor. Standing before the full length mirror, Natasha finally saw her reflection.

Blue.

Her hair was blue. Gone were her red curls and in its place was a monstrous shade. It was not even a deep, gentle blue but an outright hideous blue often worn by troupes of performing clowns; it was not a colour she was particularly fond of.

The image of Loki flitted through her mind, the only person to have done this. With quick rage, the mirror cracked under her fist, and she swiveled around to glare at the perpetrator's brother.

Thor shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Ah, I shall go speak with my brother now." With that, the prince of Asgard rushed away in as much a dignified manner as possible, which wasn't much based on his frantic footfalls upon the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

It was not the unnatural silent that stirred Loki's slumbering mind. Like a steady ripple, his magic washed against his dangling consciousness. It awakened him, echoing distress and warning.

Quickly, his eyelids shot opened as if they were yanked by the hooks of a fisherman. A thick haziness covered his sight, eventually settling and clearing in seconds. Sitting up, a new surrounding greeted him. Gone was his glass prison, and in its place was a wonderful wreckage: empty wooden frames stretched out in the hundreds, while glass shards littered the ground chaotically.

Fingers grazing along those shards, he peered down into their gleaming surface. And reflecting back was a face not his own.

'Young,' was his unexpected first thought, 'too young.' His following thoughts were decidedly less than repose and bordering on the imaginatively obscene.

The physique he'd molded through centuries of training and battles was no more. A form belonging to a boy, barely in the cusp of adulthood, now contained his existence. It felt inadequately small, lacking muscles and worryingly thin; but most of all, it felt _weak_. Questions raced within him as he pondered on the possible causes. Yet, to his dismay, no answers came forth.

Frustration pounded heavily on him as he reached to explore his face. Dust and sweat covered a smooth and pale complexion underneath. A slight curiosity grew as he inspected his host's eyes below the round lenses – eyes so very similar to his own green hue.

Warily, Loki stood up and examined the rest of his annoyingly short stature. With distaste, he picked at the attire clothing his body. It was tattered and frayed, offering as much protection as a newborn babe. Due to that, Loki called on his magic to dissolve the garb and replace it with his armor.

However, nothing happened – not a spark or single glimmer. With a frown, Loki tried again. And once more, he was met with nothing. A daunting realisation gradually took hold as shock and dread mounted upon his heart.

His magic no longer responded to his will.

He reined his emotions in before they could run off. Forcing control over himself, Loki attempted to sense his magic, and what he discovered was quite alarming. His magical pathways had become confined; it was as though a wall had been enclosed around his power.

Simmering anger poured entirely over his chest. Loki knew no such enchantments or any beings in the nine realms responsible for his transformation. Nevertheless, he would rectify this one way or another. And once he regained his real form, the one responsible for this would suffer immensely – most preferably in blood.

Composing himself, he examined his surroundings with a keener eye. A round object soon caught his attention, resting amongst the rubble of shattered mirror fragments. Picking it up, Loki discovered it to be a glass sphere, small enough to fit in his palm. There was nothing particularly unique about it… other than the swirling white mist within its core.

Suddenly, the loud crunch of broken glass alerted him to the presence of a pale-blond man. He grimaced at his carelessness and studied the stranger approaching from his far left. Surprise hung in his breath as he detected a magical aura from the mortal.

"Potter," the man growled, the sound meant to be intimidating but falling short, "give me the prophecy now, or would you like to be blasted with another killing curse?"

Loki quickly took note of the wooden stick in the man's hand. Sensing a magical trace from the stick, he surmised the object to be some kind of focus. Such tools were hardly seen on Asgard since Aesir sorcerers could easily manipulate the flow of magic within themselves. However, it was apparently not so for this man and Loki suspected it was the same for his new body.

He watched the pale-blond man with veiled calm. Amusingly enough, the mortal fool flung plenty of useless threats at him and also went on to address him as 'Potter'. In measured movements, he held up the sphere and watched as the man tracked it greedily.

"You desire this… prophecy?" asked Loki.

"Enough of your evasions, Potter. Hand it over or I'll —"

"You may have it."

The mortal's eyes blinked in incomprehension at the simple acquiesce, but they soon narrowed in suspicion. "What?"

"I said you may have it," Loki enunciated each word in the same way one would speak with a dull-witted child, which seemed to aggravate the man further.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" the mortal gritted through his teeth. "Did your Gryffindor courage finally dwindle to nothing?"

Loki offered an elegant shrug in response as if the reason was irrelevant.

The man gazed at him with clear incredulity and wariness, but the need for the orb eventually won out. "Slowly walk forward, boy. And if I see you with your wand then that will be the end for you."

"Of course," he replied easily, stepping forward.

Truly, the man was like a puppy waiting for a treat, with the way he was eagerly eyeing the orb. When a short distance finally separated them, the mortal warned, "No tricks, Potter."

Loki abruptly stopped, and he couldn't help but smile haughtily at the command. "Tricks?"

"Yes," the man hissed, "none of your foolish heroics this time."

"Oh, you mean something like this?" Loki tossed the glass sphere and it flew through the air.

In a blind panic, the mortal dashed over to grab it. Just as the prophecy was caught, Loki lunged ahead and knocked the wand from the man's hand. The weight of his small body then slammed against the other, resulting in them tumbling to the ground.

Since centuries long training with Thor brought the experience of wrestling another person much larger than himself, Loki managed to pin the man to the floor with barely a hint of trouble. Straddling the man's waist, he snatched a jagged mirror shard nearby and held it against the mortal's throat. The man struggled futilely, urging him to dig the shard deeper, nearly drawing blood.

Leaning down, Loki's features shone with unhidden scorn. "You have made the mistake of underestimating me, mortal. And if you have no wish for a swift death, then all my questions shall be answered."

Realising the dire situation, the man finally ceased his movements. His captive's gaze then traveled desperately to where the sphere laid abandon. It was only a few feet from them, having been released in their struggle. Loki momentarily ignored it to mull over his questions.

"What is my name?" he chose to ask, seeking the identity of his host body. The mortal looked upon him as if Loki had gone mad. In response, he delicately sliced the skin, enough to see a hint of red.

With rage and fear, the man screamed, "Harry fucking Potter!"

Loki raised an eyebrow at that but continued on regardless. "And what is this place?"

"The British Ministry of Magic, you imbecilic brat."

The insult earned the man another thin cut. "No need to be rude," Loki said. "I've been quite lenient so far. Therefore, do try to control that tongue of yours."

The man swallowed visibly, unnerved with his light but deadly tone.

Loki then paused to consider his location. 'British' must refer to Britain – a Midgardian island from what he remembered of his early studies; although, he was unaware of the existence of a magical ministry. Merely piqued, Loki asked, "Now, was it you who brought me here?"

"I already told you, boy," the mortal said spitefully, "it was the Dark Lord; it was he who fooled you with false visions, luring you into this trap."

A trap? Loki frowned at that. Did his host body really succumb to such a pathetic ruse of illusions? Or perhaps this trap was actually meant for Loki himself and consequently the cause of his present dilemma?

As he glanced back at the glass sphere, a thought occurred to him. "I suppose the purpose of this trap was to collect the prophecy that's in my possession," Loki deducted. "The importance of that aside, I want to know about this 'Dark Lord' of yours. Is he strong enough to manipulate the minds and bodies of others across great distances?"

The mortal scowled in confusion. "The Dark Lord is the most powerful dark wizard of our time. I have seen him perform feats beyond the capabilities of any wizard, so such spells shouldn't be beyond his powers." The man's expression then changed to one of keen reverence as he continued on. "That is why we have chosen to follow him. You know he shall rule over all wizarding kind in the end, and eventually, the magical world will flourish under his control. And you Potter – you will die, begging for mercy at his hands."

"Hmm."

Loki's hum of disinterest silenced the mortal, who was clearly flummoxed at his reaction. He was hardly impressed. The Dark Lord's goals were sounding annoyingly too similar to his own objectives, and thus, another hurdle he had to work around.

Though most importantly, with the information he just heard, it could be a possibility the Dark Lord had planned to mess with Potter's mind – and somehow, inadvertently _his_ – to attain the prophecy. Still, it was only a mere assumption for now until he could gather more knowledge.

Loki leaned in closer, impatient with his progress. "Why does your Lord seek this prophecy?"

"You already asked that question once, Potter. Becoming quite forgetful, aren't we?"

"Then explain yourself _again_." The mirror's sharp edge against the man's flesh emphasized his last word.

Despite the danger, the mortal's mouth bent in amusement. "As I said before, the prophecy was the reason why the Dark Lord went after you and your family. Unfortunately, the contents within are unknown, but what I do know, of course, are mere rumours."

"Such as…?"

"You see, Potter, in the first war, our side was gaining the advantage; just a few more battles and we could have won. We could only lose if the Dark Lord was defeated. It was also during that time when our master grew obsessed with finding a child.

"Most of us wondered why a child would garner such attention from the Dark Lord – such extreme fascination. A few thought the child would bring strength to our cause but most whispered how the child would be our downfall instead. We were proven correct on that fateful night when our master vanished, and the only one to survive the attack was you.

"We understood that whatever was in that prophecy involved you and the Dark Lord. We believed the prophecy foretold our master's defeat by your hands, and thus, the reason why he sought to eliminate you."

Loki marveled at the sheer idiocy of this Dark Lord's actions. It was a fool's endeavour to heed prophecies unless they truly wish to set it in motion. Although the Norns rule the destiny of gods and men, the threads of fate they weave presented more than one possible future. Not every spoken action or perceived course had to pass.

"If your Dark Lord wanted to avoid such an unfavourable outcome, then he should —"

"Harry!"

Loki's attention swiveled to the sudden male intruder – a novice mistake he would later berate himself for. His captive took that chance to slam a fist against his jaw, hard enough to stun him. Just as fast, the man shoved him away and rolled to his feet, dashing off towards the glass sphere. Scowling, Loki began to chase after him.

"_Stupefy!"_

That was all the warning he received as a spell of red light whizzed past him, intended for the pale-blond man.

Unexpectedly, Loki was able to feel the magical intent from the spell. Even though the magic was strange, its use was a familiar one: to incapacitate an enemy. It was an effective spell – effective only if it struck true.

Of course, the beam of light missed.

It crashed against a wooden frame, knocking it to the ground. Loki turned in time to see the pale-blond man with the prophecy in one hand and wand in the other. With an air of triumph, the mortal vanished with a loud crack.

Loki stood there in sheer disbelief, unable to comprehend the outcome. Slowly, he turned a deadly glare at the other man heading his way. The male intruder was disheveled in appearance and years of fatigue lined his face.

A string of vile and contemptible curses were at the tip of his tongue, ready to unfurl as the oaf reached him. Yet before he could unleash a syllable, the man engulfed him in a warm embrace, holding onto him with desperate relief. Loki froze at the contact, form stiff as a stone wall.

"Harry – thank Merlin you're all right," the man said in a sickeningly gentle voice. Rough hands held the sides of his face as grey orbs inspected him with concern.

An unwelcomed sensation slithered through his chest. It would be untrue to say the feeling was foreign or new; he was no longer very good at lying to himself.

The man then released him with a wide grin. "You're so much like your father, getting into such mischief like that!" A quick slap on his shoulder made him falter in his footing.

In that moment, Loki desired nothing more than to gouge this man's eyes out.

o-O-o

A/N: Sorry about the late update everyone. I've been dealing with some things, but hopefully, I can start writing again and updating my other stories.


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